


Selective

by diemarysues



Series: A King and her Burglar [10]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (the one), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Dwobbits, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin, I am a terrible person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things were never going to be smooth sailing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selective

**Author's Note:**

> So much for this being a happy place, eh?

It had only been a matter of time, in retrospect.

 

Fennin was often sick. It’d become something of a routine, for all that Bilbo and Thorin had been beside themselves with worry when he’d been a newborn. By now, they’d set up a schedule of carers, usually consisting of their friends from the Company.

 

This instance had probably been due to the cold winter air, leaving Fennin with fever and chills, Dori looking after him. Throughout it all, Thorin had had to soothe her wife before they fell asleep each night. Bilbo blamed herself for taking Fennin with her out into the snow, for all that their boy had enjoyed himself thoroughly.

 

But that had been weeks ago. And Fennin still wasn’t speaking.

 

“Do you want some more, my seedling?”

 

Fennin smiled up at her and shook his head. Bilbo tried to smile back as she ruffled his hair.

 

“Alright, then. Hurry and wash, then you can play ‘til bedtime.”

 

He ran off quite happily and Bilbo attempted to clear the plates and cutlery. She managed for about two minutes before she collapsed into a chair and dissolved into tears. That was how Thorin found her.

 

“Still not speaking?” the King asked sadly, drawing Bilbo to her feet.

 

“I don’t know what else to _do_!” She gladly buried her face in Thorin’s tunic. “H-he, he – I just want –”

 

Thorin gently shushed her as she stroked her fingers through Bilbo’s curls. “We will take him to Óin tomorrow,” she said decisively. “He will have news for us.”

 

_He better have_ , Bilbo thought, curling further into Thorin’s arms. _He’d_ better _._

 

* * *

 

“By all accounts, he’s as right as rain. There’s no lasting damage after the fever. If Fennin’s not nattering, it’s by his choice and his choice alone.”

 

* * *

 

Thorin was a light sleeper and woke up as soon as she heard the patter of small, bare feet. (Fennin had inherited that preference from his other mother.) She opened her eyes and turned at an insistent tugging on her nightclothes.

 

“What is it, _inùdoy_ _?”_

Fennin mutely pointed at the bed.

 

“What is it?” Thorin repeated. She kept her voice low. Bilbo had cried enough these past days.

 

Her son merely pointed at the bed, this time more forcefully. He rubbed at his eye and yawned.

 

“Very well.” She helped him up and let him settled under the covers, neither of them managing to wake Bilbo, luckily. Thorin couldn’t help her smile when Fennin wriggled into a comfortable spot and more than willingly placed a kiss on his forehead when he held out his arms to hug her.

 

She watched him fall asleep, and watched Bilbo automatically pull Fennin close.

 

If Thorin shed tears of her own and hid them in Fennin’s dark hair, no one had to know.

* * *

_My dear Bilbo,_

_I must thank you for your last letter. It has been a long while since I received any correspondence that brought a smile to my face, considering the dark days of late._

_My family and I are indeed well, including Estel. He is most happy that you remembered him and wishes to know if you will visit soon. In light of the most important issue in your letter, however, I have had to disappoint him._

_I am sorry to say that this is not a common affliction that happens to Elflings; considering that your healers have told you there is nothing wrong with your son’s throat._

_However, I have heard of this condition amongst the children of Men. Usually it is a manifestation of shyness and anxiety – perhaps this is something you can work with? The city of Dale is on your doorstep; I am sure that King Bard will be more than willing to come to your aid._

_I myself must apologise that I cannot help you further than to include transcribed healing texts that may or may not be useful. Also enclosed is a letter from Estel – I will warn you now that he misses you terribly, and it shows._

_I do hope this business sorts itself out soon._

_My warm regards to you and yours,_

_Elrond._

* * *

_Thorin Oakenshield,_

_I have told you before and I will tell you again, a Wizard cannot be ordered to do anything. I will let it slide this once, seeing as these are unfortunate circumstances. I cannot visit Erebor at this time; my business will not permit it._

_I will tell you this: be patient._

_Gandalf._

* * *

Bilbo may have been considered meek all those years ago when she’d still been living in Bag End with no thoughts of adventure, and certainly when compared to any Dwarf, she wasn’t exactly in possession of the most aggressive of temperaments. It must be said that when she was provoked, or when defending something close to her heart, she was fiercer than a female Warg.

 

“If you think I will sit by idly, unable to understand _my own son_ , you’ve got another thing coming.”

 

Case in point.

 

Goisil son of Dagnus, the object of Bilbo’s ire, inclined his head. “I can see that you are upset, my lady, but the fact remains that we do not teach Iglishmêk to outsiders.”

 

“I am _not_ an outsider!” Bilbo drew herself to her full height, chin held high. “I am Consort to your King, if you have forgotten. Our son may not be her heir, but he is prince, and he is _my_ flesh and blood.”

 

“And we will teach Fennin the handspeech of our people. But not you.” He sighed. “You must respect our culture, my lady.”

 

Opening her mouth to argue this point – honestly, she wouldn’t respect Dwarf culture any less just because she was taught hand signs –, Bilbo was interrupted by the heavy doors swinging open.

 

Thorin looked livid.

 

“What is the meaning of this?”

 

Goisil stood to bow. “My King. Your Consort demanded an audience with us, to discuss your son’s –”

 

“I know why Bilbo is here. What I wish to know is why you decided to carry out this ‘discussion’ in my absence.”

 

“I was told you were unavailable,” Bilbo murmured as Thorin slid an arm around her waist.

 

“I would let nothing stand in the way of this.” Thorin turned her sharp gaze to the councillors. “I do not see why my wife’s wanting to learn Iglishmêk alongside our son is being called into question.”

 

The Dwarves behind the stone table exchanged pained looks. Goisil, apparently their spokesperson, cleared his throat. “The fact remains that it is _Iglishmêk_ , my King –”

 

“Bilbo is the reason Erebor is reclaimed, and if I were to teach her Khuzdul, you could not stop me. You have no right.”

 

This announcement was met with horrified stares (two Dwarves had their mouths agape), and Bilbo tossed her head impatiently.

 

“This is not a thing that will happen. I do not need to know the Khuzdul meanings for Iglishmêk, I just need to know the Westron equivalent. Your language will be kept secret, and I will be able to communicate with my son. What is the problem?”

 

“The problem is that your son should not be in this predicament in the first place. Perhaps if he was fully Dwarf –”

 

Thorin pulled one of her daggers out and slammed it onto the table before Goisil, snarling something out in Khuzdul. From the anger in her face and the way the other Dwarf dropped his eyes and muttered his reply, Bilbo didn’t need to understand to know that she’d issued some kind of duel if the councilman didn’t take back his words.

 

Bilbo didn’t stop the coil of dissatisfaction she felt in her gut that Goisil had backed down. She stepped forwards, allowing all eyes (except Thorin’s, as she was apparently trying to set the council on fire by the force of her glare) to snap to her.

 

“I will remind you that I am friends with Bifur of the Ur Clan. I will remind you that he cannot speak Westron, even if he may understand it, and that despite this I’ve picked up a few things, enough to converse with him. I learn quickly.”

 

Thorin had turned by this point, and therefore had the extreme pleasure and satisfaction (not to mention a considerable amount of surprise) to see Bilbo offer the councillors the _rudest_ handsign in Iglishmêk.

 

 She didn’t spare the Dwarves a second glance as she swept out of the room with her wife.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed.
> 
> I feel like I should apologise, but I shan't. This'll be continued, eventually.
> 
> By the way, if you like Rule 63'd Bilbo and Thorin, why not participate in FemBagginshield Week 2013? It starts on the 27th of May - Tumblr's the place to be.
> 
> #fembagginshield13 is the tag to track, and the blog you'll want to keep an eye on is this [one](http://fembagginshield.tumblr.com/). Hope to see you there!
> 
> P.S. What Fennin is undergoing is selective mutism, following vocal cord paralysis after a viral fever. Yes I overthink these things.


End file.
